


kingdom come

by n_kei



Category: NCT (Band), SuperM (Korea Band), WayV (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Professors, Angst, Banter, Drama, Hong Kong, Korean War, Lemon, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-World War II, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-02-07 13:52:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18621940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n_kei/pseuds/n_kei
Summary: It is 1945, and Yukhei travels to Seoul for the rare opportunity to teach Chinese Literature at the prestigious Seoul National University.





	1. 01

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this story in tandem with in between words, where I felt exceptionally moody. So here's your warning: Do not start this story expecting it to be a light read, and do not read the updates in the morning before your first cup of coffee (unless that's your thing, then by all means). The ratings and additional tags will change with each update, you get the drill.
> 
> The story started from a prompt I received by @onehiddentrack, and grew to be a different, bigger kind of monster. If you read/remember estrus, it's longer and angstier. You've been cautioned.
> 
> This chapter was beta'd by [yuvana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuvana)!! <3

Smoke billows from the front of the train, filling the station with clouds of grey and white. The shroud dissipates into the darkened platform that is lit by rustic sconces on the walls and hand-held lamps of the station masters. Yukhei pushes through the crowd, tugging his giant luggage along as he nervously looks for the 13th carriage. Sweat dabs across his forehead. He sees a station master milling about and anxiously hobbles over, cumbered by his giant pack of belongings.

“Sir, excuse me. 13. I’m looking for carriage 13,” he stammers out his best Korean, which isn’t much to be very honest. He’s only learned the language a few months prior, practicing in front of a mirror because there was no one he knew who spoke the language.

The station master gives him a withering, judgmental look and a quick glance at his ticket. It didn’t seem like he processed the information before pointing him to the front of the train, barking out an order that sounded vaguely like  _Hurry up._ But Yukhei is not about to stand around arguing with an old man in a language he barely knows, so he gathers his bags, throws a poorly pronounced _Thank you!_ over his shoulder and rushes into the cart the station master pointed to.

He scrambles on without another moment to waste.

When he enters the carriage, he is met with a lavish interior of crystal glass, pearl satin sheets and deep walnut wood. There are three sets of windows across, and all of them drawn closed by thick, red velvet curtains that looked an inch deep if he sank his fingers in. All in all, it looks less like a train carriage and more like someone took a cross-section of a rich man’s home and squeezed it inside an empty train compartment.

This is definitely not Yukhei’s train carriage.

That’s when he hears the loud moaning and grunting of a copulating couple by the bed. His heart lurches, flinching so hard from the shock that he knocks a side table over.

A head shoots out from the cover of the sheets. It’s an old man with a red face, sparse white hair and spectacles. “What the hell are you doing here? This isn’t your carriage!” He screams, hastily pulling the sheets around his waist.

Yukhei immediately twists around, blindly feeling for his luggage and stammering a hasty apology while the man jumps to his feet and shoves him out the carriage door with one hand, the other is holding onto the sheets around his middle. He hollers obscenities, causing a scene that makes Yukhei’s insides burn with second hand embarrassment. It's a midnight train ride back to the city, what's there to freak out about?

Oh. Definitely not his wife, then.

He hastily exits the carriage and the door is slammed shut behind him. Unfortunately this train does not have connecting carriages, and unless he wants to risk missing his train just so he can find the correct compartment, he’ll have to settle for the next best thing: sneaking into the closest one. Hopefully without being noticed.

(It might've been achievable if he wasn't so tall he literally stood out wherever he was. Alas.)

So in a flurry of movement, Yukhei takes his bags and turns to the closest door and slowly, quietly prying it open. His head peeps in for a quick glance, noting the lack of moans and groans, and deems it safe to enter.

One of the curtains is drawn open, casting the dimmed, yellow light of the station to a rectangle of the interior. The gold finishing on the same walnut wood glistens in a warm palette, and there’s a silhouette of a man standing by the window, levelling him with a cool glare.

The train lurches to motion, slowly pulling into a slow trot.

For a tense moment, neither of them speak. The man's glare makes Yukhei feel small, like he’s being pinned and examined like an insect. His mouth feels dry and he desperately wants to move, but he has nowhere to go.

Finally, the man opens his mouth: “What do you want?” He asks in Korean, steady and devoid of emotion.

The breath escapes from his lungs with a low whine, and Yukhei blushes when he realizes he was the one who made the sound. He immediately straightens from his crouching position, and his luggage clattering loudly behind him.

“I’m sorry for intruding. I truly am. I was told to come to this compartment even though I’m pretty sure my number is 13 not 3, but I don’t understand a single word the station master said. He just kept pointing this way. I don't know why. I really don’t want to get in your business, and I’ll do my best to stay quiet and out of sight I’m just really sorry for intruding on you like this-” he rambles in Cantonese, and English, because he mixes his languages when he’s flustered.

The man frowns at this. “Do you speak English fluently?” He asks in English.

Yukhei blinks. “I do,” he replies.

It’s not uncommon for the rich to know English. After all, they must be able to communicate to negotiate deals and trades with the Western world. But that was not the case for Yukhei. He learned English because Hong Kong was a British colony for ninety nine years, and the ruling government had restructured the education system and forced English as a mandatory secondary language class. Street signs, labels, and instruction all came in two languages: Chinese and English. Growing up in this strange mesh of cultures and languages was a strange experience, but it was not unique to Hong Kong. Korea, too, was ruled by Japanese.

The man in front of him frowns.

“You are not Korean,” he says, a dawning realization reflects in his eyes.

Yukhei nods slowly. “I’m from Hong Kong. My name is Wong Yuk Hei, but I have an English name, it’s Lucas.” He approaches the other man quickly, hand extended. The man stares at his hand, then back at him, and slowly slips his hand inside his own.

_Strong grip._

“Mark Lee,” he says, letting go of Yukhei’s hand.

Yukhei blinks. _Not even a Korean name, he must be loaded._

Clearing his throat, he pushes his thoughts to the back of his mind and smiles broadly. “Nice to meet you! I was just saying, in that hodgepodge of an explanation, that I was directed to this train compartment by the station master- which is clearly _not_ somewhere I should be, I cannot afford this- but the train is moving now so I can’t really go-”

“That’s hardly my problem. You’re not supposed to be here.”

The hard edge to his tone makes Yukhei frown. He takes a step back, glancing at his surroundings before levelling Mark with a look. “But you’re travelling alone, aren’t you?”

Mark frowns. “So?”

“It's night time, you’ll probably go to sleep anyway. I won’t bother you, I’ll be quiet as a mouse! I'll, um, I'll just hang out here,” he says, gesturing to the carpeted floor around him.

Mark raises a dubious brow, and Yukhei feels his cheeks flush from his weak argument. He knows there's no reason for Mark to share his carriage. But there's no way he'd stop the train just to find his own carriage.

“I won’t get in your way, I just can’t leave now. If the train delays, I’ll be late to my orientation. I can’t have tardiness as my first impression. I’m really sorry for the inconvenience, but I’ll make it up somehow!”

Mark regards him with a measured look. After a long pause, he asks, “How, pray tell, will you make it up?”

It’s the same condescending tone that makes Yukhei frown up something fierce, but he quells his annoyance with a wry smile. “I know there’s not much I can do, especially when you can afford this kind of luxury,” he gestures to the extravagance around him, “but if you need a hand at something, like moving or building, or a sounding board, I can help!”

Mark stares at him for a moment longer, then looks down at the floor. His ears, round and prominent suddenly come into view. Yukhei follows the delicate arch down the muscle behind his ear, cutting off where the stiff fabric of his shirt pulls together tightly. He catches himself staring and looks away quickly.

Unaware of his attention, Mark continues, “There might be something.”


	2. 02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by [yuvana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuvana)!! :)

It’s been five minutes since he boarded the train and Minhyung’s already heard the loud sounds of sex from the carriage next door. He knows, from a rather nosy luggage boy, that it is the carriage of a diplomat and, from the sounds of it, his latest mistress.

It’s 1950, Korea had just shaken off the cruel, terrible remnants of being under the Japanese rule for thirty five years. The government is corrupt and convoluted, scrambling for some semblance of order with every passing day. Poverty and crime are higher than ever before. And in between all of this are the beginning sparks of globalization. Foreign dignitaries and diplomats have become increasingly common in the country, especially those who travel from the docks of Busan up to Seoul.

Minhyung was born in the middle of the Japanese rule. Through an unnecessary series of unfortunate events, his parents and brother had passed. His uncle from his father’s side took him in and raised him as his own. Minhyung had no cousins, which he later found out was because both his uncle and aunt were too busy with their work, and too afraid by the state of affairs to have children. Minhyung cannot blame them. But his uncle was a prominent figure in education, pushing for the revision of history books to accurately depict the Japanese occupation, so Minhyung grew up well-to-do, educated, and protected. His first decade of life was literally dirt compared to the second.

He's not ignorant of his stroke of luck. It came at the price of becoming an orphan overnight. He'd lost the comfort of family and the fear of death within the span of moments. The murderers were Korean, but from the other side of the law. Thieves like them ransacked homes, taking whatever they wanted while killing the unprotected just as the weak neighbourhood shook off the remnants of Japanese occupation.

They took everything worth something in Minhyung's house. When his older brother tried to fight back, they pulled out their knives. His father and mother jumped to defend him, and suffered a similar fate. But he didn't. They searched for witnesses for their crime, and didn't find him. He was small and hid well, not giving away his presence under the bed. He'd survived.

Strangers, adults, came in to take away the bodies. Minhyung remembers crying and screaming until his voice lost, his face red and swollen, his eyes burned.

The men were caught weeks later, for having crossed some Japanese soldiers, and were executed immediately on site.

After that, Minhyung was lost. He got by on scraps and stealing, because there was nothing else he could do. He fought off those who tried to break into his house, but when he realized there was nothing of value inside, lest of all himself, he gave up. He didn't know how long had passed between the night of the death of his family to when his uncle and aunt found him. It didn't matter.

He survived.

He was the only one who survived.

He wished he didn't.

They rode on his uncle’s sleek, black car. It was rare to own a car, yet his uncle drove it like second nature. Minhyung never knew his uncle was so well off. When they arrived at their house, they quickly ushered him into a shower, where a helper scrubbed him within an inch of his life. He was then forced into proper clothes, uncomfortable shoes, and literature and etiquette classes. Upon completing those, he moved onto further studies like sciences, history, and maths.

It turned out that he was really good with numbers, to his uncle’s immediate approval. So he continued his studies in probability and statistics, economics, accounting, business, and actuarial science.

There was a library in his uncle’s basement that Minhyung was introduced to when he first arrived at the house at age ten. By age seventeen, Minhyung had read about a third of the books. He completed the collection by twenty-two. And they were not just books on literature, but books about everything.

“Knowledge is power,” his uncle repeated, whenever his younger self grew bored and tired from staring at the pages. This mantra urged him to keep reading into dark hours, for long days, until he was prescribed with light reading spectacles.

Now, reading is second nature. In fact, Minhyung is rarely seen without a book- that is, unless he has to attend meetings with his uncle. Board meetings, because he’s expedited his graduation in university and is currently sitting as the acting director when his uncle is away to take care of other business.

At age 24, Minhyung- no, Mark’s official title is Chief Operating Officer of Seoul National University, and acting Board Member of the Republic of Korea Board of Education. He is young, much too young to be someone with those titles, but it wasn't exactly his choice. It's no secret that he got to where he was with connections. Since the age of sixteen, he's followed his uncle in and out of classrooms, lecture halls, symposiums, and meeting rooms (so many meeting rooms) to know that the education system is failing the Korean youth and, by extension, Korea's future. Most importantly, it’s failing the university's bottom line.

Working with the administration, professors and students, he helped to design a more accessible and affordable system, from the broad framework to minute details. Korea as a country isn't rich by any means. It's not easy to convince a person to part with their measly income for an education. But the talk of the mill was to focus less on the fight, more on building up. The new system was set in place after more than half of the board voted yes, and that had been two years ago.

Now, he's sent on meetings upon meetings to decide on the growth of the university. Prospective courses, new buildings, cultivating a healthy lifestyle that would entice people to attend it. It's why he was in Busan. There was a symposium for professors and university administrations from around the country discussing how to make people see value to post secondary education. He’d rushed into this trip, sleeping the bare minimum in order to attend all the meetings in the shortest time possible.

(Mark sometimes wonders what it's like to not live this life. He tries to not spend too long thinking.)

He takes off his glasses, pocketing them and rubs his tired eyes.

It might be different, mostly because he wouldn't find himself in a first class train carriage beside a loud diplomat who really, really should know better. Hell, they haven’t even left the station yet and the noises travel through carriages. Plural. With a frustrated sigh, he strides to the window and draws a curtain aside. He was planning to read a little, maybe even get some rest, but that seems unlikely now.

The dimmed lights of the station flicker, almost like in hypnosis, and Mark tunes out the rest of the world. He sighs.

Suddenly, there's a distant crashing noise, then seconds later, the door to his carriage opens and a tall shadow sneaks in, as much as a big man can sneak.

He's not very stealthy. But the lines of his body already spell trouble.

Mark glares at the shadow.

Then the man peeks his head over the short railing, and Mark catches a smooth face with honest, wide eyes.

Mark's glare hardens, despite the confusion and alarm spiralling in his mind.

When the man notices him, he immediately straightens. Mark's annoyance increases when he realizes the man is much taller and likely well-built, if the way his clothes clinging onto his body is any indication. He dresses too properly to be a thief. He also doesn't look like he's here to pick a fight. But looks are deceiving, and Mark doesn’t like to take risks.

_What does he want?_

“What do you want?”

Mark observes a million thoughts flit through the man's eyes like an open book. Then an outpouring of rambling comes from his mouth, and Mark blinks bewildered and confused. His brain picks up on the English, an unexpected language, and he narrows his eyes further.

He switches to English. “Do you speak English fluently?”

When the tall man nods vigorously in confirmation, Mark scans him up and down again, trying to figure this anomaly in his world of predictability.

“You are not Korean.”

The man confirms again, and after a hasty introduction, throws his hand out with an expectant look in his eyes.

Mark stares at the hand, then slowly slips his own in it.

Strong. Definitely strong.

The man, Yukhei, explains that he's gotten on the wrong carriage, and it makes Mark internally roll his eyes back. An idiot. He's trapped in a train with a well-dressed idiot for eight hours. He can already feel a migraine forming around the crown of his head. His brain chooses to remind him that there are actually _two_ loud idiots, only the other is blocked by two layers of paper-thin carriage walls.

“I'll make it up somehow,” Yukhei continues, unaware of Mark's thoughts.

_Like hell._

He doesn't hide his sneer, but his mind is already calculating the chances. For a lot of things. And the odds are not… against… him.

It would, at the very least, keep him occupied for a bit of time.

“Let’s play a game.”

“What kind of game?” Yukhei asks, suspicious.

“Poker, of course," Mark answers neatly, rising to his feet. He rifles through his briefcase for a pack of cards for (infrequent, but existing) times of extreme boredom. Playing poker had been a passing fancy, a lucrative pastime. But then Mark began to win almost all the time, and he didn’t care for the money, violence or drama that followed, so he stopped.

Now, though, it might provide him with some entertainment.

“Do you know how to play?” He asks, tone neutral.

Yukhei shrugs offhandedly. “I do. I’ve played a few times, but was never good. There is a clear winner and loser, right?”

“Correct.”

“Then, what is it that you want to bet?”

Mark hums. “If you win, you’ll be allowed to stay in my carriage, we will arrive in Seoul at the intended time, and there will be no delays. If you lose, however, I’ll stop the carriage and move you back to your intended seat.”

There’s a flash of something in Yukhei’s eyes that makes Mark pause. Yukhei is definitely smarter than he leads on. He’s a professor, and becoming one comes at the cost of, well, money and years of high level learning. The system, regardless of the country, will accept only the brightest minds. Every university has a reputation to upkeep. Yukhei is not only what he appears to be.

“Why would you play this game unless there is something else you wanted?”

Mark smirks internally. Yukhei _is_ very bright.

The taller man continues, “You can just kick me out now if you really wanted to. But you gave me a choice. There’s something else you’re after, isn’t there?”

Mark shrugs a little, wearing a neutral expression. “Play the game, or I’ll stop the train now.”

Yukhei considers his options. Finally, he unbuttons his long trench coat, folding it over his suitcase and striding over to where Mark is– in the middle of the carriage. From this proximity, Mark catches his features more clearly.

Yukhei has wide, honest, expressive eyes. His nose is strong, structured and chiselled. His lips are full and slightly upturned, which makes Mark wonder if he finds the situation amusing, and if he should push a little more roughly.

“How good are you at poker?” Yukhei asks, a low timbre with a hint of suspicion.

Mark permits a tiny, tiny smirk.

“I am good.”

 

‘Good’ was an understatement. It may perhaps be the understatement of the century, and that is a strong exclamation as the World War happened within the same century as their existence. Yukhei wants to swear in all three languages, but holds his tongue as Mark flips his final five cards, an 9, 10, J, and Q of spades to snag the K of spades, sitting innocently in the middle of the table. The king’s black, painted eyes stare at him as though mocking his shitty luck. He shoots a frightened look at Mark, whose cool expression had not changed since they began the game.

It was a best of five, and after easily winning the first game, Yukhei argued that Mark had to have been shuffling in a magical way that placed the cards in his favour (he was), so he became the dealer for the second and third round.

Mark had won three games in a row. He didn’t even look worried.

Yukhei’s eyes harden.

“So, what do you want?”

It is a question that pleases Mark, being asked what he wanted. So much so that a tingle of thrill shoots up his spine. He doesn’t let it show.

“Strip.”


	3. 03

“Excuse me?” Yukhei’s eyes widen, like he couldn’t have possibly heard what he’d heard.

“I said, ‘strip’. It means to take off your clothes.”

Except he did. Yukhei crosses his arms protectively around himself and glares hotly at the shorter man. “No. What the hell! I’m not about to strip in front of a stranger, I hardly know you!”

“I could also stop the train, making you late for the thing you really need to be punctual for.”

Yukhei gapes. “This is hardly fair!”

A scoff. “This will hardly hurt.”

“That’s not for you to say.”

“It is. It will not hurt, you have my word.”

After a long consideration, Yukhei throws his arms up in the air and lets out a string of really colourful curses in Cantonese. Mark raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. It’s not in his place to say something, anyway. Yukhei had a choice, granted, it was a choice between a rock and a hard place, but a choice nonetheless.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Yukhei mutters under his breath, pulling his crisp, white shirt from his trousers and unbuckling his belt. “Must be out of my goddamn mind to entertain this sicko and his fucking kinky tendencies instead of just being late to the fucking orientation that my entire life depends on-”

He continues to mumble and grumble away as the clothes make a pile on the ground. Mark is surprised he doesn’t ask Mark what he intends to do. Yukhei pauses at his briefs, then with a look at Mark, sheds that too.

“Don’t you want to know what I’m going to do?”

“Probably some disgusting shit, because who the fuck makes another man strip in their first meeting? A sicko, that’s who.” Yukhei growls, straightening and ignoring the chilly humid night air.

_Sicko, huh?_

Mark hums noncommittally, eyes raking down Yukhei’s body with the barest interest. It’s almost like what he’s seeing isn’t anything special. For some reason that doesn’t sit well with Yukhei, who takes pride in his physique. He takes a challenging step forward. “What?”

“Nothing,” Mark replies, nonchalant and dismissive.

Yukhei narrows his eyes. “Don’t like what you see?”

“I never said that.”

“Then what?”

“Are you really fishing for compliments?” Mark sneers, cool eyes pinning Yukhei down. “You’re in my carriage, naked, and at my mercy.” He stands up in a fluid motion, pinning Yukhei with a glare.

Yukhei raises an eyebrow. “At your mercy? You don’t scare me.”

“No, you don’t seem scared. Is there a reason?”

Yukhei meets Mark’s eyes tête-à-tête, eyebrows raising slightly at the unreadable dark brown eyes. He shrugs. “Nudity has never fazed me.”

“Is that so.”

“Neither does any of this power tripping you’re displaying, to be honest.”

“That’s fine.” Mark almost laughs at the confusion in Yukhei’s eyes; he decides to have some fun.

Yukhei blinks owlishly back. “What do you mean, ‘fine’?”

“It’s no less than what I expected.” Mark takes a step forward. “So, you’ve done this.”

Yukhei instinctively takes a step back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Should I paint it out for you?”

“Paint? Are you a painter?”

“No,” Mark trails, watching as each inch of incredible skin is exposed to him with little finesse, but piquing his interest nonetheless. “Not quite. Hold your wrists out.”

Yukhei looks alarmed. “What are you doing?”

“Ah, here comes the questions. Slower than I expected,” Mark chuckles lowly, taking another step forward. The glint in his eyes are predatorial, and Yukhei gulps audibly. Mark fishes for a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket. “Hold them out so I can tie them together. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Yukhei wears an expression between alarm and conflict. “You’re not stopping the train, are you?”

“As long as you comply.”

“And this will not hurt?”

“Yukhei.”

Yukhei extends his wrists, looking away with a sigh of irritation. Mark takes two strides, invading the taller man’s personal space, if the involuntary flinch is anything to go by. With cool fingers, he inclines Yukhei’s head down a little, so their gazes meet. Annoyance, fear, anticipation. Hm. He draws a thumb on the soft skin of Yukhei’s throat.

Yukhei’s eyes widen, but when he notes Mark’s unreadable expression hinted with disdain, he looks away again.

Mark makes quick work of the silk handkerchief around Yukhei’s wrists, binding them together. That will at least keep him safe, should Yukhei try to thrash, struggle, or attempt to hurt him. He hums, frowning slightly, ignoring how good the man looks, bounded this way. When he contemplates his next move, Yukhei begins to figure it out.

“You’re planning to leave me like this, aren’t you?”

… He’s safe enough.

“I’ll admit, I would love to tie your ankles together but the fabric would probably rip.”

Yukhei frowns. “What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know you, I don’t know what weapons you may have in your clothes or pack. This is the easiest way to ensure my safety.” Mark stalks away without so much as a look backwards. “You may rest on the bed if you like. I have no use for it.” _Not anymore._

There was a long pause before Mark hears a soft rustling behind him. Then Yukhei’s voice calls out: “You’re not going to bed?”

“Not when you’re in it.”

“How noble. To strip and tie up a stranger only to dispose them on your bed.”

Mark detects the sarcasm, and finds it largely uncalled for, especially for the kind gesture he’d just given. “I can assure you I had more entertaining use of the bed until you showed up.”

“Entertaining?”

Had he say entertaining? “I meant efficient– for sleep,” Mark clarifies with a sharp clearing of throat. He turns away hurriedly, settling back on his seat by the window.

A pause.

"You're really not going to bed?"

Mark inhales softly. "Unless you fancy sharing the bed, I suggest stopping this line of questioning."

"I've shared beds before."

"With strangers?"

"Well, some were bunk beds, but sure. Everyone starts off as strangers, especially in dormitories. Wasn't that the case for you?"

Mark doesn't know how to respond, he's never lived in a dormitory before. The closest thing was sharing a room with his uncle when they were attending yet another conference, but they slept on different beds. It might've been the one about restructuring Korean studies courses, or the one about financing a student-only exercise facility, but Mark doesn't remember. He wordlessly shakes his head.

Yukhei snorts, making himself more comfortable on the bedding. Despite his involuntary nudity, he looks very much at home, and it makes Mark wonder whether this peculiar man makes it a nudity habit. “I guess it must be different for someone like you, huh?”

Mark suppresses a scowl at Yukhei’s brazenness. “You wouldn’t be wrong.”

The conversation lulls into a pause.

“You may put your clothes on,” Mark mutters, turning away to stare out the window.

Yukhei snorts somewhere behind him. “Now that you’ve deemed me safe?”

Mark wants to raise the point that Yukhei was the one with the dramatic, preconceived ideas, calling him a sicko and all, but he bites it back and replies with a simple: “It is basic self-defense.”

Yukhei stares at him for a while, then flips to his back nonchalantly. “Nah. I’m comfortable enough. Not to mention my wrists are still tied, so putting my clothes on is kind of challenging. Plus, you were the one who told me to strip.”

Mark is starting to regret his decision.

Yukhei notices the twitch at Mark’s eyebrow. “Are you starting to regret your decision?”

“Have your parents ever mentioned how shitty of a child you were? In particular, when trying to put you to sleeping?”

“I was a great child.” Yukhei flashes a bright smile. “Don’t you have siblings or friends?”

“I don’t have friends, and my only brother died during a raid.”

“Oh. Shit.”

Mark raises an eyebrow.

“Sorry, I didn’t know, I–"

"Your apology is unnecessary.”

Yukhei levels him with a look, then he flips to his back with an irritated huff. “You don’t have very good bedside manners, you know.”

“I wasn’t aware bedside manners were necessary when speaking to an intruder.”

Yukhei bounces up from the bed to shoot Mark a frustrated glare. “For the last time it wasn’t intentional! I’m sorry for intruding your eight hours of peace, but this is just what it is-”

“I understand.”

For a second, Yukhei’s temper flares for being interrupted, but there’s a strange tone to Mark’s response that has him looking at the other man’s face. There's fatigue, and a lot of it.

“...fine. I’m going to sleep. You’re welcome to join if you’d like. I’ll stick to my side of the bed, scout’s honour.”

Mark doesn’t reply, assuming that the silence will coerce Yukhei into dreamland. He lets out a light exhale.

"Are you originally from Seoul?"

Mark inhales sharply, looking skyward for the immeasurable patience that he surely will need to keep his sanity. "I am."

"I'm from Hong Kong, it's a small shipping port down South. Have you heard of it?”

“Of course.” Mark frowns, remembering something. “Weren’t you only just released from Japanese occupation?”

A darkness cast over Yukhei’s eyes, a kind of darkness Mark recognizes all too well. It passes quickly. “Yes, actually. Don’t we have that in common?”

A pause. “We do.”

Yukhei jerks back suddenly, as though jolted by a memory. “Anyway.” He clears his throat. “What do you do?”

Mark clears his throat dismissively. “That’s none of your concern.”

“Information you’re unwilling to divulge… is it something I shouldn’t be aware of? Are you a spy? Is that how you afforded this carriage?”

“So many questions.”

Yukhei shrugs, or as much as he can when being tied at his wrists and laying in bed. “I’m a curious person.”

“You weren’t curious when I tied you up.”

“It’s not like I had much of a choice.”

“You also called me a sicko, preemptively.”

“You wouldn’t have told the truth anyway,” Yukhei interjects. He’s right, of course, but Mark hides his confirmation behind a quiet cough. “Not a lot of things can happen when you tell someone to strip. Plus, I saw you checking me out.”

Mark whips his head around, expression indignant. “I did no such thing!”

“Are you sure? I mean, you were all kinds of condescending, but I can tell when someone’s checking me out. You were definitely checking me out.”

“I suggest you stop this baseless accusation when you’re reaping the benefits of my kindness.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know.” A slow smirk pulls at the corner of Yukhei’s lips. “It’s just a look, my ego can withstand-”

Mark interrupts, tone a little urgent. “I was trying to assess whether you would be a threat, like being the cause of my untimely death, or if you are just an idiot-”

“Hey now, that’s not nice. I was being nice to you, you should be nice back.”

“I don’t do nice, Mr. Wong.”

“Evidently, Mr. Lee.”

Mark shoots daggers at the figure in the dimmed corner of the carriage, who grins back cheekily, and it is that cheekiness that has Mark feeling the need to assert dominance. He takes a few steps over, glaring at the man on his bed (but carefully avoiding the direction of his groin because no… just no).

“Hey there,” Yukhei smirks.

“If you keep this up, I will not be responsible for physically throwing you out the window of this train.” Mark threatens, feeling his blood boil and his cheeks redden.

Yukhei shrugs offhandedly, quickly glancing over Mark’s shoulder to the window. “We’re not going fast enough that the fall will unquestionably kill me, but it will probably make me late for my orientation. So... maybe don’t.”

Mark’s nostrils flare. "You continue to test my patience, Mr. Wong.”

Unperturbed, Yukhei continues. “Plus, you probably can’t even lift me with those noodle arms.”

With that, Mark digs his arms underneath a very naked, very tall and heavy Yukhei and heaves him up with a mighty roar. He failed to predict that Yukhei would flinch and freak out from the contact (albeit belatedly, in a rather hilarious way). What ends up happening is that Mark gets two seconds of muscular glory before Yukhei screeches (“It tickles, damnit!”) and bounces out of Mark’s arms, which would be okay if Mark were taller and if the train wasn’t lurching into a turn. As it were, it throws them both into the wall of the carriage before falling in a graceless heap on the bed.

Mark opens his eyes to Yukhei’s hairy armpits, and he lets out a rather undignified yelp before scrambling to his feet. Yukhei, shocked from the sound, attempts to push himself into a sitting position, but the bed is soft, the blankets are strewn everywhere, and his wrists are still tied together, so he ends up flopping to his side, and his sizable member socks Mark in the eye.

It shouldn’t be funny. Yukhei _just_ manages to bite back his laughter. Mark, on the other hand, is having a moment.

“You fucking son of a bitch.”

“My mother is beautiful, dignified, sweet and loving. Don’t drag her into this.”

Mark breathes deeply, running his hands through his unruly locks in an attempt to tame them, then pressing on his eyelids. There is most definitely a headache starting at the back of his eyes, he can _feel_ it. Yukhei sees this, too, and feels a little bad.

“Okay, just, just untie me and we’ll sort everything out. I’ll wear my clothes, keep to myself in this corner of the carriage-”

The train lurches again, and this time, Mark falls to his hands and knees, with his face breaths from Yukhei’s stomach.

And sees it up close… alert and waving hi at him.

Yukhei quickly shoves Mark away and throws a pillow over himself, a deep blush spreading across the apples of his cheeks. Mark draws livid eyes up Yukhei’s body to his eyes. The glare would kill a lesser man. Yukhei junior bounces up happily into the pillow.

“What, pray tell, has got you so worked up.” Mark punctuates each word with murderous pause.

“It’s nothing! Nothing at all! You know how erections are, they come and go as they wish!” Yukhei stammers, laughing too loudly and looking too scared for his life. “C-can we just, uh, look! There’s a mountain out the window over there!”

Undeterred by Yukhei’s pathetic attempt at diversion Mark places a palm on Yukhei’s chest, just above his heart, and pushes him down to the bed. Yukhei’s breath catches in his throat. Their eyes meet, and Mark dips a little lower, whispering as though sharing a secret.

“Are you.”

It’s not a complete question. Hell, it’s not even a question, but Yukhei understands the implication anyway. For a long moment, he doesn’t respond. It’s one thing to be naked and tied at the wrists by a stranger, another altogether to admit his sexuality (while being naked and tied at the wrists, his mind supplies helpfully). But there’s something about Mark that makes him want to be honest. He doesn’t want to think too hard, he just wants to feel–

He nods.

"Are you?" Yukhei repeats, his voice so low it sends a shiver down Mark's spine.

Mark's gaze flickers down to his throat, then back up.

It's all the confirmation Yukhei needs. He leans back slowly, eyes searching Mark's for something, or maybe nothing, because there's nothing else occupying his mind now. "You want this. How..."

"Do I like it?" Comes Mark's question. He tips Yukhei's chin up, running his thumb over the plump lips and meeting his eyes squarely. The tension in the air thickens. "I take what I want.”

A breath.

“Did you-”

Mark’s hand trails over the smooth column of Yukhei’s neck, down to his collar, chest, and abdomen to pause just above his groin. Yukhei involuntarily bucks into the small cage of Mark’s legs, but Mark waits for his imperceptible nod before diving to his neck, pressing a hot kiss on the soft skin just below his ear.

“Did I what?” Mark asks into Yukhei’s pulse.

Yukhei sucks in a shaky breath, trying very hard to not lose his focus. “Did you anticipate this to happen?”

Mark attaches his hot mouth to Yukhei’s pulse and sucks gently in response. One of his hand pushes down on Yukhei’s shoulder while the other holds Yukhei’s bound wrists above his head. When his tongue brushes against a sensitive spot, Yukhei makes a weird throaty sound and nearly bucks Mark off. But Mark is getting used to this, and throws his leg over to cage Yukhei in again with unexpected ease and grace.

Yukhei gawks. “Are you a dancer?”

“No. Are you going to keep asking questions?” Mark sneers, drawing cool fingertips down Yukhei’s body and watching goosebumps form behind them.

Yukhei inhales through his nostrils deeply, and a bit desperately. “Would be nice if you would just tell me, you know.”

Mark sits back on his haunches. “Why does it matter, what I do?”

“You’ve stripped me to guarantee your safety, yet I have none whatsoever. A peace of mind would be nice.”

“I’ve already given you my word that I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Much as I love to trust you I– ohgod–”

Mark removes the pillow and grinds their erections together in a kind of painful but pleasurable way. He leans forward so their chests are almost pressing together, and is surprised to find Yukhei’s strong body slightly shaking underneath him. This realization comes with a muted sadistic glee that he is quick to mask. “Sorry for interrupting. What were you saying?”

Yukhei throws his arms over his cheeks and eyes, peeking underneath to shoot a weak glare at the man above him. “You little-”

Mark stares back with an air of challenge, then his eyes travel down his neck again. “Hm?”

Yukhei manages to capture Mark’s hand between his and tightens his grip just shy of pain. It catches Mark’s attention, who is doing delicious things near his collar. “What are you planning to do?”

Mark growls, pulling back and levelling Yukhei with another glare. But this time, it’s heated and dark with want. “I’m planning to make you see stars behind your eyelids, so if you would stop asking questions and let me continue, that would be greatly appreciated.”

Yukhei snorts. “Hah! Fucking power trip, I knew you were into that kinky shit.”

“For the last time, shut the fuck up Mr. Wong.”

“Make me, Mr. Lee.”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice.


	4. 04

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've teased you long enough ;) Warning: You may not want to read this in the morning, in public space, at work, or with family/friends in the room. It's All Lemon.
> 
> AHEM. On a different note, updates may be a bit sporadic from here because I have a lot of fish to fry right now. But trust me when I say this: I'm going through a very strong Markhei phase, and will be focusing most of my time here (sorry, other stories / jaeyong shippers). I want to start this right, give you a chunk to chew on before I move on. Also I miss Markhei, so, damn, much, but you already know this. Anyway, enjoy <3 ;)

Mark unbuckles his belt in one clean sweep. Before Yukhei realizes what’s going on, he is flipped to his stomach and his bound wrists are tied to the wooden rung of the bed frame. It squeaks loudly in complaint. “Don’t make me force my hand, Mr. Wong."

It's all the warning Yukhei gets before cool fingers wrap around his erection, giving him a few shallow tugs to test his reaction. Yukhei hisses and thrusts into the loose grip in response, and Mark smirks. He angles Yukhei's hips a little higher, forcing his knees wider to fit more comfortably between them. Out of personal indulgence, he gives the muscular glutes a friendly smack. It jiggles and bounces back quite delightfully, and Yukhei's low groan tells Mark that he liked it too. As expected, Yukhei makes a lovely picture, bounded like this.

Slowly, like documenting all of the information in an experiment, Mark wraps his hand around the base of Yukhei's cock and watches it bob from the pressure. Yukhei hisses and pushes his hips forward a little, so Mark steadies him with his other hand. He fights his squeeze just a little, just the way _he_ likes it, and feels the erect member throb in response. When he let's go slowly and move his hand to the top, Yukhei lets out a soft, drawn out moan.

He's too responsive.

"Do you touch yourself?"

Mark realizes this question, when asked out of context, would be stupid and hilarious. Most men do. Yukhei, looking over from his crouched position with a kind of pink haze in his eyes, nods a little.

"When was the last?"

"A week ago? Maybe two?" Yukhei supplies, voice breathless and rushed.

Mark eyes the pair of low hanging, round and full balls with undivided attention now. “Tell me when it’s too much.”

From his vantage point, Yukhei cannot see anything. But he hears a packet of something rip open, then feels a slick and warm hand wrap around the tip his cock and almost comes on the spot. Mark's hand is smaller than his and moves differently, like when he twists at the top just a little bit, before gently running a finger on the underside of the head where it is sensitive. A thumb teases the opening while the other fingers squeeze the tip again.

"Nnh, feels good…"

A warmth blooms in Mark's chest. In all the times he's done this he's never met someone quite as responsive as Yukhei. This is becoming more and more interesting.

He presses himself against Yukhei's backside, and leans over to kiss the side of his body softly, open-mouthed and wet and warm. His erection, straining against his pants, is snuggled up in the crevice of Yukhei’s globes. The shiver that runs up Yukhei's back so strong that Mark feels it too. The air around them becomes a series of quiet squelching sounds with staccato breaths and moans littered here and there.

Mark’s hand slides to the bottom of Yukhei's cock while his other hand takes the place of its first, gently teasing and squeezing the tip. But with the extra pressure at his base of his cock, Yukhei feels the warmth mounting at his abdomen. Mark moves his hands up and down a little faster, hand twisting and the tip, fingers dancing along the  pulsing vein, thumb teasing the opening.

Yukhei hisses and whines and arches up. The combined stimulation is driving him up the wall. He presses backwards, chasing after the feeling of Mark’s hardened member, separated by the rough fabric of his trousers.

"Fuck, Mark, this is. This-"

Mark shushes him, pressing more open mouthed kisses across the well defined back until he reaches his spine. Then he trails upwards licking and nipping at the skin while his hands squeezes up and down the thick column. The little whines Yukhei let's out are needy and almost adorable. Almost. He understands what Yukhei wants, if the increased wiggling against his groin is any indication.

Mark hums lowly. “I’ll let you go, but you’re not allowed to touch.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, but when he turns Yukhei over, he’s caught in the mixture of emotions that flashes across Yukhei’s eyes.

“Strip.”

It takes Mark a moment to register that Yukhei repeated his command. He smirks, looking down at the naked man who regards him with a dark hunger. “I don’t think so.”

“But you want this too.”

Mark hums in response, reaching above Yukhei’s head. The cool silk handkerchief around Yukhei’s wrists loosens a moment later. Neither breaks his gaze.

“Strip,” Yukhei repeats. “There’ll be less evidence.”

He holds Mark’s gaze for a beat, then Mark raises to his feet and quickly snaps his jacket open, draping it across the chair before undoing his cufflinks and the buttons of his shirt. That too, and his undershirt, belt and trousers, are crisply folded and lain on the chair. Yukhei notes the view with honest, appreciative eyes and a small smile. His hands reach out when Mark nears, but they fall back to his lap when Mark glares at them.

“I won’t touch,” Yukhei promises. “But I’d like you above me, preferably now.”

Mark quirks an eyebrow.

There’s a plea to his eyes that will not be vocalized, but Mark smirks in victory nonetheless. He resumes his position above Yukhei, whose hands stay firmly beside him until Mark moves them above his head again. Yukhei catches sight of Mark’s erection beside his, a pearly substance forming at the tip and feels his fingers itch to touch… or just, do something.

“Enjoying the view?”

Mark locates more lube and with one hand, gathering both erections together and spreading the cool gel over them. His hand is not big enough to wrap around both members fully, but Yukhei is hot and pulsing against him, and their combined heat makes Mark groan softly. This feels so damn _good_.

Yukhei moans as well. His hands ball into fists against the sheets, his hips thrust up to increase the friction between them. Mark hisses at the unexpected pressure. He sits back on his haunches, taking it slow and focusing on their tips, slow and tantalizing. His other hand trails down to cup the full balls, absentmindedly brushing against the perineum as he does, and Yukhei lets out a low whine.

Yukhei wants to move his hand, but when he and Mark meets eyes, Mark’s lustful glare pins him down, intangible but physical, and he whimpers instead. “You’re such a sadistic asshole,” he half growls, half complains.

Mark responds by squeezing their lengths more tightly, moving his hand a little faster and teasing the crinkled hole and perineum with intention. Yukhei’s abdomen tightens instinctively, and his erection expands a bit more, pumped with blood, and twitching and dribbling with pre-come. Mark chuckles a little breathlessly when, at a particular downward stroke, Yukhei thrusts up powerfully to chase after the pleasure, seeking that high.

“Am I? But I’m-”

“Fuck you, you feel so good.”  
“-making you feel so good.”

Mark chuckles again. Yukhei glowers, or as much as one can glower when he’s strokes from coming.

“Gods above yes, right there. Don't stop.”

Mark pauses with a haughty smirk. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

With his patience wearing thin, Yukhei growls and flips them over so that he’s on top, pressing a large hand across Mark’s chest and keeping him down. Mark’s expression is of stunned surprise. Meanwhile, Yukhei’s other giant hand collects their erections between them and thrusts, squeezes and strokes. They moan in unison, loud, dark and heedy. Mark intends to push Yukhei off, but his hands land somewhere near Yukhei's chin at a particularly well-timed thrust, and a burst of pleasure explodes by his abdomen. He grunts, wrapping his arms around Yukhei's broad shoulders instead. His eyes crack open and sees Yukhei staring back with dark intensity. He feels his soul getting sucked in-

"Are you close?"

"Are you really asking me that?"

Yukhei grunts, feeling the heat of Mark's column rub deliciously against his and wanting more. Mark tightens his hold without thinking, and Yukhei ends up resting his head on Mark's shoulder, cheek against cheek.

"Good, me too."

Yukhei keeps the rhythm going, thrusting his hips in short, strong jabs. His balls occasionally bump against Mark’s puckered opening, driving his pleasure even higher. Mark squeezes his eyes shut, his abdomen tightening. _So fucking close._

“Yukhei,” he warns breathlessly.

“Mark, oh god-”

Mark feels Yukhei's hot release on his stomach. The fat thick cock pulses and twitches against his own as it comes; a shuddering stroke after, Mark wordlessly arches up. Thick splatters of white come land on his stomach, some even as far as his throat, and this knowledge makes Mark twitch and spurt even harder at the next pump. Yukhei moans from the view as he pumps another powerful stroke forward, emptying his balls over this intensely powerful and intelligent man below him.

It takes a moment for the both of them to calm down, but when Yukhei sits up a little to look at Mark again, he's surprised to find his face has scrunched up, quite adorably, and sees a few dollop of come near and on his face.

Yukhei laughs.

"I'm glad one of us finds this situation amusing." Mark cracks an eye open slowly and carefully, pinning Yukhei with a weak, pink filtered glare. "Can you locate the towel in the bathroom and clean this mess once you're over your humorous musings? Thanks."

"Oh come on, there isn't even that much on your face, just flecks here and there." Yukhei grins, wiping a spot off with his thumb and sucking it after.

Mark stares at this lewd display for all of three seconds before groaning and squeezing his eyes shut again. "You're only saying that because there isn't a lake of come on your stomach. Any time would be good now, Mr. Wong."

Yukhei looks down and, sure enough, there is a rather sizeable pool of come on Mark's stomach. The sight makes him grow hard again.

"...are you getting hard again?"

Yukhei doesn't know if it's wise to give an honest answer, so he quickly hops to his feet to fetch the towel while thinking unsexy thoughts. Wow. The carriage comes with a running tap and everything. Fancy.

He returns with a wide-eyed look and carefully wipes their ejaculate off of Mark's stomach. "So how much was this carriage?"

Mark rests an arm over his eyes. "Your monthly, perhaps two."

"You don't even know how much I make."

"A new professor relocated to a new country can only make so little, Mr. Wong."

Yukhei's dick twitches again. God, it needs to stop doing that. Yukhei quickly cleans the rest of the ejaculate up, wrings the towel clean before going back to the bed.

"So you work in education. Treasury, maybe." He eyes at the soft of Mark's belly and feels an urge to press a kiss there.

Mark hums tiredly, neither confirming or denying.

"Am I right?"

"Are you always this peppy after sex?"

For that, Yukhei kisses Mark's stomach before giving it a little nip. Mark shrieks and jumps upwards, and Yukhei almost gets kneed in the eye.

"What the hell." Mark grits out.

Yukhei grins, pressing Mark down and kissing another trail up his body. Too tired to protest, Mark lays there and closes his eyes. He tries not to enjoy it, but the warmth spreads from his abdomen to somewhere up in his chest.

"You need to get laid more often." Mark says after a pause.

Yukhei sputters. “I was _busy._ It takes a lot of preparation to make move to a completely new country, alright?"

"Mm."

Yukhei scowls at Mark's flippant attitude, then he remembers something and his eyebrows shoot up. "Plus, I didn’t see stars behind my eyelids. So, you know, you’re welcome to try again.”

Mark snorts, covering his eyes with his arms again. It’s been a while since he felt this satisfied. Man he’s tired. A few hours of rest would be nice.

“You’re putty.” Mark hears the grin in Yukhei’s voice, and sighs exasperatedly.

“I am _tired_.”

Yukhei pokes his cheek. “And putty.”

“Don’t poke me.”

“Make me.”

Mark groans. “Are you three years old? Stop it.”

“No. I said, you’re welcome to try again-”

With a growl, Mark flips to his other side, swinging his arms around with a last ditched effort to beat some sense into Yukhei, but Yukhei catches his fist easily, sliding himself onto bed. He curls around Mark’s side, snuggling on Mark’s shoulder with his cheek. It’s… acceptable.

“Fine, I’ll wake you up in an hour. Sweet dreams.”

“Uh huh. Just don’t kill me.”

Yukhei smiles wryly. “You give me too much credit.”

•••

Yukhei wakes up with a start, realizing the train has stopped and has probably been stationary for a while. He groans, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, and remembers Mark. He’s not in the carriage. It’s not surprising, but Yukhei feels a little empty inside all the same.

His clothes are still strewn across the floor, and his belongings are by the door where he last left them. With a soft sigh, he pulls on his clothes article by article, and comes across a pair of cufflinks on the ground. They are thin, made of black metal, and have a lion emblem embossed on them. He pauses shortly, before pocketing them with a soft look in his eyes.


	5. 05

Yukhei grins widely at the campus grounds that open up before him as he climbs up the main entrance stairs. Like Hong Kong University, his alma mater, Seoul National University sits atop a hilly area. It is accessible by a one-way, endlessly-winding road that goes up one side of the mountain and down the other. There is also a narrow sidewalk to the road, and students and professors are commonly seen jogging up and down the path. Cliff-side trees and shrubbery are plenty and thick, acting as a cloak between the campus and the rest of the city.

The campus is made up of seven giant cement-slab buildings, resembling a jail more than an education building. (Yukhei doesn't dwell on that comparison for too long.) Surrounding the campus are dormitories for students, and to the east is a smaller five-story brick building for professors, instructors, and university administration officers. Yukhei moved into room 116 on the first floor, tucked away on the far end of the east wing. In fact, it’s right beside the emergency exit, which suits Yukhei just fine. Instead of walking three minutes down the hallway and out the exit, he slips out of the emergency exit to go on his weekly jog. The exit leads to a narrow path that goes around the back of the campus, up a viewing terrace, before merging into the winding road and sidewalk in the middle of the mountain and back to the front of the campus.

It’s the perfect path for a challenging uphill, then downhill, then uphill, then kill-me-now jog. Yukhei did always like a challenge. He's noticed some students trailing behind from time to time, but no one is able to keep up, and a grin tugs at his lips.

The early morning sun breaks through the leaves and branches of the tall trees, spilling onto the pebbled path as Yukhei carefully puts one foot in front of the other down a steep decline. It was scary the first time he scouted the path, but after two weeks of the same route, Yukhei has gotten used to it. No wandering thoughts, just him and jogging.

The decline fans out into a flatter area of a small park, complete with basic exercise machines, a fountain, sizable flower beds, and a lot of mosquitos. Yukhei quickly learns that stopping to smell the flowers yields itchy results. He doesn’t pause for the colorful fauna anymore.

Orientation had gone as well as expected. He met Qian Kun, the Dean of Chinese Cultural studies and the man who hired him for the job. He’d taught his first week of classes and, while there was a slight awkward language barrier as most of his students are Korean, he breaks the ice with games and anecdotes to get a feel of the class’ comfort level with Chinese, and designs his classes based on that information and curriculum.

It’s hard work because each class is a little different, but it’s what Yukhei enjoys, organizing the materials in the most efficient way to learn. He’s nervous but excited to see how his students will react. When he runs over his course curriculum with Kun, the older man just laughs. Confused, Yukhei asks for clarification.

“It’s nothing. I’m just surprised this was what you came to talk to me about,” Kun admits with a dismissive wave of his hand. The round spectacles perched on his nose amplifies his young and approachable appearance, nothing like what you’d expect a dean to look like.

“What else could I be talking about?”

Kun blinks. “You haven’t heard what they said about you?”

Panic shoots through Yukhei’s veins. “Were there complaints? It’s only been a week! What did they say?”

Kun hides his smile behind a shuffle of papers. “Well, it’s mostly the girls, but they’ve been commenting on your, ah, assets.”

“My assets?”

Kun raises his brows, his demeanour changing from kind and soft to something sharper, giving Yukhei an approving once-over. Something clicks. It’s obvious he’s trying to imitate one of Yukhei’s students, but Yukhei flushes bright red anyway. To be honest, he hadn’t realized. He’s normally quick with these things, picking up when someone is talking about him. But he’s the new professor, students are bound to talk about him. Unfortunately, or fortunately, it’s done in a language he isn't fluent in, so he has no way of knowing what's said about him.

He clears his throat awkwardly, hoping that it’s just a phase, and continues on with life.

It isn’t until after the first month of classes that a brave student raises his hand and asks if he’s single. (At least it was done in Chinese.) The class bursts into a fit of hushed giggles, and Yukhei blushes and smiles a little awkwardly.

“I wasn’t aware that my marital status was a part of the syllabus, but I'm glad you learned enough Chinese to ask it. Let’s focus now.”

Half of the giggles simmer down while the other half groans with second hand embarrassment, then they dissolve into soft murmurs and Yukhei pushes on with a polite rigidity.

Besides the obvious rule of not getting involved with the personal lives of his students, Yukhei wants to help them in any way he can. He introduced himself as an open book, willing to share any knowledge he has, and look into the questions he has no answer to. To live is to make mistakes and learn, he says with an air of optimistic wisdom. It’s the same brightness in his eyes that spreads to his students, who have slowly but surely picked up his enthusiasm for learning, beginning to ask questions related to coursework after class. It eats into his personal time, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Between orientation, classes, jogging and lesson-planning, Yukhei scarcely has any free time to explore the city of Seoul. Plus, he wants to learn a few words of Korean before going to the fresh food market, which he knows is full of traps if he’s not careful. Hong Kong is the same, especially in the busier, sight-seeing areas.

The opportunity arises weeks later, when he’s planned his classes weeks in advance, that Kun asks if he’d like to join for a trip to the city. He breaks into a wide grin and nods enthusiastically.

“You know, with how excited you are to go into the city, it’s almost like you’re a country bumpkin and not the hotshot professor we hired from Hong Kong. It's _Hong Kong_. You’re basically from one of the most well-connected cities in the Orient!" Kun teases.

"Seoul isn't Hong Kong," Yukhei replies smartly. "Do I look okay?"

Kun snorts, giving Yukhei a quick glance over. "You are okay."

"An 'okay' from Qian Kun is good enough for me," Yukhei grins boyishly. "What is the name of your friend again?"

"Xu Yiyang,” Kun gestures to the door after glancing at the clock on the wall. “Let’s go?”

Yukhei nods and strides out the door. “She’s the language interpreter for Seoul Broadcasting Station, right?”

Kun grins, following behind. They make their way across the small foyer and past the security desk. “Yes. I think she mentioned bringing a younger colleague along. Someone your age. You might get along.”

The strong beams of sunlight hit their faces when they step outside, but it’s not the reason why Yukhei scrunches his face in mild irritation. He shoots Kun a suspicious look, which goes largely ignored. “This isn’t some kind of a set-up, is it? Just because you lack a romantic life doesn’t mean you should play matchmaker for other people.”

Kun whacks him at the back of his head in warning. “Idiot.”

Yukhei rubs his head, affecting a small frown despite the smile that threatens to tug his lips upwards. “Or are you just playing matchmaker for yourself and I’m your wingman? I can take the other lady away to make space for you–”

Kun cuts him off, physically and verbally, with a hand outstretched and a polite grin plastered across his face. Even his dimples are on full display. “Apologies for the wait, Miss Xu.” He inclines his head, shaking the small hand in his with a firm grip. Yukhei quickly schools his features and turns to the two women. Xu Yiyang is of a slight, medium build, long dark brown hair, sharp coffee eyes and a confident smile. Her lips are pink, her cheeks are even pinker. He can see why Kun has taken a liking to her.

“It’s not a problem. We had only just arrived ourselves. How do you do?”

“Quite well, thank you. My colleague, Wong Yukhei.”

She turns to him, and he politely inclines his head, hand reaching out. “Wong Yukhei, pleased to meet your acquaintance.”

Her grasp around his hand is as steady and confident as her smile. “Likewise, Mister Wong.” She turns to the shorter woman beside her, who steps up with an excited bounce to her step. “My colleague, Song Yuqi.”

Miss Yuqi greets Kun and Yukhei with enthusiasm. She smiles brightly and clasps their hands with her smaller, rougher ones. “Happy to meet your acquaintance, misters!”

Kun chuckles. “Kun is fine.”

“And Yukhei,” Yukhei bows his head to meet Yuqi’s eyes. She’s not very tall.

“Then Yuqi is okay, too,” she echoes, smiling as she pulls out a jingle of keys. “Ready to go?”

Cars are rare and expensive, and owning and driving one on foreign soil is basically unheard of. Yukhei has never driven a car before, and he can bet an arm and a leg that Kun has never driven one either. Cars existed in Hong Kong, but it was a sign of wealth and status (and, more often than not, corruption).

Yukhei shoots Kun a look of surprise, who gives a little shrug. “Ready as ever.”

Yiyang hides a tingling laugh behind her hand. “Yuqi has the curiosity of a kitten and the bravery of a lion. She offered to drive us around town today.”

Kun laughs, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “More bravery than I or Yukhei can muster. I’ve never thought to get a license in another country.”

Yiyang points to the slate blue car, and the four of them slide into the tanned leather seats with Yiyang at the front, and Kun and Yukhei in the back. Yukhei looks like a clown that’s squeezed in the small space. He throws an awkward smile to reassure Yiyang and Yuqi, and they’re off.

They drive down the winding road, past mountains and fields, and finally into the outskirts of the city. It is warm, and the windows are rolled down for maximum air flow. Yukhei squints his eyes at the faraway mountains, the smell of humid city air, and feels the wind in his hair. He closes his eyes briefly, smiling at nothing.

It’s a long drive into the city, but once they’re there, the new sights, sounds and scents bombard Yukhei’s senses, and his stomach emits an impressive growl, hushing the quiet conversation in the car. Yuqi bursts into laughter a beat later, followed by Yiyang’s giggles and Kun’s exasperated snort. “Hey guys, cut me some slack. I missed breakfast this morning, okay?”

“Did you oversleep?” Yuqi teases, waiting for a left turn. When there’s finally a pause in traffic, she makes the turn safely, and Yiyang continues to direct her through the busy streets of Seoul.

Yukhei chuckles in good fun. “Do I look like the type to do that? Wait, actually, don’t answer that.”

“You do.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Yep.”

“I said _don’t_ answer that question,” Yukhei scowls. “I was planning classes. Teaching is more than just the hours that I teach, you know.”

Kun snorts. “Hardly anyone knows. We’re just the mean teachers to them. They don’t think we have lives which,” a teasing grin plays at his lips, “may ring true for some of us, but definitely not all.”

Yukhei doesn’t miss the glance he shoots at Yiyang. Shaking his head, he lets the dig slide. “On that note, there better be good food where you’re bringing us.”

Yiyang smirks. “Don’t worry about that. This place has you covered in droves.”

Minutes later, they park a few streets away from Namdaemun Market, but Yukhei has already seen the signs and knows where they’re going and is literally bouncing off his seat from excitement.

Namdaemun Market has a lot to offer. Between the different kinds of pancakes, marinated pork feet, knife-cut noodles, and the plumpest dumplings Yukhei has ever seen, his stomach becomes a growling mess, and he eagerly pulls Kun and the others from stall to stall, impatient to try the next menu.

Somewhere in the middle, he moves closer to Yuqi, driving her to help him with translations for questions she doesn’t have an answer to. The shop vendor explains something in quick Korean, and hands the piping hot snacks to Yuqi.

“It’s sugar and pine nuts inside the dough,” Yuqi explains with a hurried expression. "And for the love of God take this before it burns my fingers!"

Yukhei laughs, then almost drops the hotteok. The thin layer of the paper cup is hardly any protection against the heat of the pancake. “That’s it? It doesn’t look like much.”

“Don’t knock it till you try it,” Yuqi scolds, waggling her finger. She takes a small bite, blows at the piping hot steam, then takes a bigger bite. Yukhei follows her example. The inside of the hotteok is the liquid gold syrup of melted sugar, cinnamon and roasted pine nuts. The outside is a soft and chewy dough, deep fried for the extra crunch. Yukhei makes noises that are far too suggestive and loud, and Yuqi laughs and smacks his arm to keep his embarrassing sounds down.

When they look over the shoulder, Yiyang and Kun are nowhere to be seen. They smile to themselves.

“That was kind of awful,” Yuqi comments, nibbling her dessert.

Yukhei barks out in laughter. “At least they paid for some of the food when they pretended that this wasn’t an excuse for a date.”

“‘It’s definitely not a date,’” Yuqi pitches up her voice, pretending to be Yiyang. “What a farce. I bet it will be a few more hours of them dancing around each other.”

Yukhei snickers. “Dancing is right.” Then he shoots a glance in Yuqi’s direction. “On that note, I just want to clarify…”

“I don’t want there to be a misunderstanding between us,” Yuqi blurts in a hushed tone, pink staining her cheeks, eyes strong and steady. “I’m not interested in a relationship. Or in you. Or any men. At all.”

Yukhei blinks. “Uh.”

The blood runs from her face when Yuqi realizes her words. She flails her arms, blushing harder. “I like you, as an acquaintance, maybe even friend. That came out all wrong. I just… I…”

“It’s okay, I think I understand.”

“You, wha- you do?”

It’s a disheartening response, like Yuqi has never met someone who understood and respected her boundaries. Yukhei smiles reassuringly. “I also thought there was more to this, with the way Kun-ge spoke about today's plans.” Shaking his head, he continues, “don’t worry, we’re on the same page.”

After a pause, Yuqi breaks into a grateful smile. “That’s good.”

Yukhei chuckles and nudges Yuqi’s shoulder. “So, why don’t you teach me how to say, ‘Please give me a discount’ in Korean?”

Yuqi beams and nods. “Yeah, sure!”

And so, Yukhei learns that Korean Chinese food and Canton-Chinese food are quite different, that he receives a lot of love (and free food) from doting Korean grandmothers, and that there is actually a bus, infrequent but punctual, that routes from the campus to the city. He’s not sure what the stops are, it sounds like an adventure for another day, but he’d like to put the Korean he’s learned to good use with more trips to the market.

They eventually bump into Kun and Yiyang, who immediately put a foot’s distance between them. How they missed Yukhei's tall figure is anyone's guess, he sticks out in a crowd like a sore thumb. Yiyang waves with a calm smile at a bouncing Yuqi, and Kun firmly ignores the suggestive eyebrow waggles from Yukhei. Yuqi hooks arms with Yiyang, her other hand shoving a bungeo-bbang into her mouth. Yiyang sputters, surprised but unwilling to lose to the mildly sweet dessert. Kun laughs with an air of kindness befitting of a grade school teacher, and Yukhei grins widely. They make their way back to the old car, and Yuqi safely drives them back to the teacher dormitory.

Yiyang draws out of the car slowly after Kun as Yuqi rounds the other side, waving Yukhei over.

“Yukhei’s showing me around real quick!” Yuqi calls over her shoulder. She pulls Yukhei along before Yiyang and Kun can come up with a proper reply.

“You’re sneaky,” Yukhei mutters under his breath, ducking his head to hide a smile.

Yuqi laughs broadly, nudging his shoulder. “What are you saying? Their plan worked, we vibe just fine!”

They sneak a glance over to see Yiyang shooting them a brief smile before dipping back into a soft conversation with a pink-cheeked Kun.

Yukhei hides a laugh in his fist. “Careful, they might hear us.”

“They’ll believe what they want to believe,” Yuqi shrugs. “All old people do.”

“They’re not old enough to be deaf yet,” he replies good-naturedly. They make their way down a trodden trail to the back of the dormitory. It's a lot further than Yuqi expects to go.

“We don’t need to go this far away. They won’t follow us.”

Yukhei grins, shrugging. “I know, but you showed me around the city. It’s only fair that I show you around here.”

A grateful smile tugs at Yuqi's lips. She considers him from the corner of her eyes, then sets off on a walking pace beside him. A long silence stretches between them.

“You’re not interested in women at all, are you?”

It comes out more like an observation, but Yukhei feels something rile up inside him anyway. He clears his throat awkwardly. “This is coming from someone who admitted to not finding _any_ men interesting.”

Yuqi snorts. “I appreciate men just fine. I just don’t like them in a romantic way.”

Yukhei scoffs, striding up a narrow staircase that’s hidden by thick shrubs and trees. It quickly leads to an opening, and the sight takes Yuqi’s breath away (or so she claims, Yukhei thinks it’s the short but steep climb). Before them, the sky boasts a pink and lilac hue, and a slight breeze picks up the ends of Yuqi’s long hair. Yukhei belatedly notes her simple, powdered blue a-line dress with skin toned stockings, and sensible one inch black heels. She is pretty, and dresses well. She’s also very intelligent.

“You’re not wrong,” he eventually replies, rubbing the back of his neck.

She nudges him again, this time a little harder, with intention. Yukhei meets her strong gaze and the corners of his lips twitch.

“Sorry.” _It’s become a habit,_ he wants to say. _TIt's not something I talk about normally._

The words don’t quite come out, but Yuqi understands nonetheless.

“It’s a beautiful view,” she comments instead, a smile gracing her lips.

“I figured you’d like it,” he replies, sticking his hands in his pockets and puffing his chest out proudly.

The behaviour is so childish, that it sets Yuqi into a stream of giggles. She clutches her stomach, wiping a tear that forms at the corner of her eye. When she finally calms down enough to catch her breath, she asks, “Do you reckon they’re just about done?”

“Honestly, there may never be enough time for them to finish making moon eyes at each other.” Yukhei shakes his head. “It is getting late, and you still have a long drive ahead of you. I’ll break the lovebirds up.”

They make their way down the stairs and around the path, chuckling and joking as they approach Kun and Yiyang, who have definitely more than said their goodbyes with how red Kun’s lips are. Yukhei bites back a tease, and Yuqi quickly ushers Yiyang into the car.

“Let’s keep in touch,” Yuqi says, waving over her shoulder.

Yiyang and Kun meet eyes.

Yukhei bends over a little, and returns the wave. “Yeah. Take care for now.”

As the small car pulls out of the driveway, Yukhei notices a black car parked near the entrance of the dormitory, a man wearing a black suit and white gloves in the front seat. Yukhei’s never seen anyone in the dormitory boasting their own chauffeur before. Most professors or instructors live modestly, especially after the war. Some students, the ridiculously rich ones, may have chauffeurs, but they wouldn’t show up at the professor dormitory. He joins Kun, ears perked with interest.

A tuft of soft black hair peeks from the open door, followed by a familiar face, expression blank with cool eyes and a neutral set of lips. Yukhei’s eyes widen. Behind him follows an older man in his forties, salt and pepper hair slicked back. They wear black suits, white shirts, slate grey ties, and black leather oxfords that are shined to the nines. They make their way up the stairs, quickly ducking into the building.

“That’s the President of the university and his nephew, the COO of the university,” Kun supplies.

Yukhei hums, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "I see."

Kun presses a hand on his arm. “Let’s go.”

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the plot thickens... *evil smirk*
> 
> To those who've kudos'd, subscribed, bookmarked and commented in the previous chapter, thank you <3 It's been a while, and I do apologize for the wait, but I've been busy writing a lot of other things (those who are familiar with my jaeyong stories will know this). The updates will be a bit slower, but I'll do my best to be consistent! :)
> 
> Lastly, happy birthday, Mark :)


	6. 06

Yukhei hasn’t seen Mark since that day.

But now that he knows who Mark is and, more importantly, where he works, he’ll have a better chance to meet the man. There’s still a  _ thank you _ he owes to the man for sharing his train carriage. Plus, he intends to return the gunmetal cufflinks. So with renewed enthusiasm, he tries to track the busy COO down.

All the while, he wonders why he is putting so much effort into this. He knows, as taught by his parents, that he should return what he finds that isn't his. He gave this notion a long consideration. He also imagines the cool disdain look on Mark's face when he returns the cufflinks, and feels that he would be cheated out of something.

He had, after all, been tied and manipulated against his will.

If Mark had gone back to the train station, he would have known the cufflinks would not be there. By process of elimination, he would've realized that they were with Yukhei and, if he wanted to, he would be able to track Yukhei down. Yukhei had given him all the information he needed, after all. So the only conclusion is that he doesn't want to find Yukhei.

Which means that Yukhei will have to take the initiative first.

The cufflinks are now sitting on his desk, glinting dark slate grey against warm oak. He sighs and scrubs his hand across his face. It always comes down to one question: what does he want from this?

The answer is simple, though not simplistic. It is Mark.

He wants to see more of Mark. Wants to befriend him. The pull he felt for him was more than just a hormonally-charged, rash decision. There is something there. He just needs the time to figure out what that is.

And if it ends up being nothing he imagined, nothing he wanted, so be it.

It isn’t until days of asking and snooping that Yukhei comes to one conclusion: it’s not to get a hold of Mark. In fact, it's downright hard.

Granted, the COO of any university would lead a busy lifestyle, especially after the Japanese occupation. History and education were destroyed and overwritten in the blink of an eye. It takes a lot of time to re-establish and restructure new education systems that make sense going forward. All in all, really important stuff.

But there must be free time somewhere in his schedule, right?

Which is why he looks through the school administration personnel records to find the secretary of the COO.  _ This isn't creepy or desperate, _ he convinces himself as he enters the office. The room is brightly lit, walls lined with books and a painting of… fruits. Actually, the watermelon is quite impressive. The secretary, a slight, trim man who wears his hair slicked and parted sideways, looks up from his paperwork. His thin gold rimmed glasses, sitting atop his pert nose, catches the harsh light and gives his eyes a sharp edge. His light brown suit is pressed and fits him impeccably. The name tag on his desk reads Huang Renjun.

His hawk-like eyes take Yukhei in for a ticking second before informing him that Mark is currently in a business meeting, and will be on the road to conduct more meetings for the remainder of the month.

Yukhei balks. He's never met someone whose schedule was packed for more than a  _ week _ . He clumsily flips open his pocket-sized calendar notebook, frowning at the dates and wondering if this is really how busy a COO of a national university gets. Apart from classes, lesson plans, quarterly meetings with his department and various one-off events, his schedule is unexpectedly simple. His calendar, though marked with blue and black ink, leaves days unmarked. What life is Mark living, that his schedule cannot afford a short meeting?

“Is that all?” Comes the clipped question.

Yukhei blinks. Renjun looks a mix between disdain and constipated, and Yukhei almost laughs out loud, but bites it back in time.

“Can you let him know the professor of Chinese Literature, Wong Yukhei, wants to see him?"

Renjun levels him with a calculative look. "If this is about funding, Mr. Lee cannot help you," he informs, clasping his hands neatly in front of him. "You’d have to talk to Mr. Qian about it.”

“No, no. This isn’t about the funding,” Yukhei replies, suddenly flustered under the man’s intense gaze. “I, um, wanted to thank him for something.”

“Are you going to elaborate?”

“It’s something I should speak to him directly.”

They stare at each other for a moment longer, before Renjun reaches a thin, strong hand into the desk drawer, procuring a black duotang. “If Mr. Lee has an unexpected opening before the month is over, I will pencil you in and let you know. Otherwise, we can set up an appointment for the first Friday of the next month. How does that sound?”

Lucas checks his calendar quickly, giving a quick nod. “Sounds great. Thank you for your help, Mr. Huang.”

The slighter man inclines his head, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. “Is that all?”

Yukhei grins and opens his mouth to reply just as the door behind Renjun opens. A group of gentlemen enter, all slow and greying with age, some wearing western suits, others hand-dyed, stiff hanbok. The last man to follow is none other than Mark Lee. His hair is slicked back, suit opal black, shirt pristine white, and black oxfords glint in the warm incandescent light. Not a piece of hair is out of place. They’re deep in conversation when in unison, they turn to the door, where Yukhei is.

He bows his head quickly, a light flush to his cheeks.

The soft murmurs hush, and one by one, the old men nod at Mark before stepping out the door. They don't even spare Yukhei a glance. Not that he'd notice anyway, he’s trying to catch the tired eyes of the elusive man. The dark rings under his eyes are even more prominent in this sharp lighting, as opposed to the midnight train's poorly lit carriage.

After what feels like a long pause, Mark glances at him, then dismisses him the next second as he turns to Renjun.

“How was the meeting, Mr. Lee?” the secretary asks.

“Good,” Mark replies in a clipped tone. He quickly turns back to his office without addressing Yukhei.

Yukhei feels a mild annoyance bubble through his usual calm. His body move before he has a chance to consider his actions.

“Mark! Um,” He fumbles in English, while pulling Mark back by his hand. It is cool, dry and strong. It is also unmoving, just like Mark's features. Then his actions catch up to him, and the belated realization of an audience of Renjun makes him let go with an awkward laugh. “Mr. Lee. Sorry. I didn't mean to. Um. Do you have a moment?”

Mark glares at him, immediately shaking off his grip.

Renjun immediately jumps in. “Mr. Lee has another meeting to attend in half an hour, and will be making preparations for it. I will contact you when he is available, Mr. Wong.”

Yukhei hears a dismissal, but he is stubborn, unwilling to move. Mark ignores him and goes back into his room. The door closes behind him.

“Mr. Wong?”

“Apologies,” he shakes his head. “Mr. Huang, was it? Are you by any chance Chinese?"

•••

Yukhei is on his routine weekend jog. Yukhei is also reassessing.

He probably shot himself in the foot when he grabbed Mark's arm like an idiot who couldn't even use  _ words _ . Redness burns across his cheeks from the memory. It's not one of his proudest moments. But despite his greatest efforts to track Mark's schedule, Huang Renjun is his only lead. So he swallows his hiccup and quickly draws up a new plan. It optimistically highlights the following:

  * Get friendly with Renjun
  * Find out where Mark frequents
  * ?
  * Return cufflinks



He's not sure what the '?' entails. It's room for spontaneous happenstances, which he's beginning to recognize is somehow, unexpectedly, miraculously working to his advantage. He's not really used to it, and he swears he'll never take it for granted.

What strikes him as curious is how he doesn't doubt that he will see Mark again. The feeling is strange and new, but Yukhei has never been one to think too deep about his gut (unless he is hungry, of course.)

He hums, thumbing a neat ₩1000 from his old, grey wallet and handing it to the street vendor in exchange for a box of red bean steamed buns. The walk back to campus grounds is a little cumbersome, but well worth it. They're Mr. Huang's favourites, a familiar taste of home in northern China. Because if there's one thing he's learned about Renjun, it is that he will never say no to perfectly good, delicious food.

Foregoing to change out of sweaty exercise shorts and long sleeved cotton tee, Yukhei enters the office just as Renjun tugs on his jacket.

"Heading out?" He asks, blinking at the briefcase.

"You could've taken five minutes to wipe yourself off before coming." Renjun scolds without beat, eyeing at Yukhei's dishevelled appearance. Then he notices the box. "Are those for me?"

Yukhei hands it over. "Don't eat it all in one go."

"I don't make promises I can't keep," comes the snappy reply, followed by a wide grin as Renjun folds the box of buns in his arm. "Thank you, I'll be enjoying these on the way."

Yukhei shakes his head. "He sure works you hard."

A snort. "I'm not a paid eye candy to teach Chinese Literature, unfortunately."

"Hey now, teaching isn't that easy."

"It's not my fault you make it look so easy," Renjun grins widely. "But no, I'd rather deal with one insufferable human than classes of insufferable humans. Mr. Lee isn't so bad once you get to know him."

Yukhei's doubt must be apparent, because Renjun takes one look and smirks to himself. He pops a bun in his mouth, gathers his briefcase, and makes a beeline for the door. "I'm running a quick errand. My schedule folder is on the desk here if you need to know where I am. Gotta go!"

Without waiting for a reply, he slips out of the office, the door sliding close behind him. Yukhei stares at empty space for a long moment, then turns to the black duotang on the neat desk.

He recognizes a set up with less words.

After a quick glance at the schedule, he closes the folder. He takes the pen from his breast pocket, writes a note on Renjun's stack of memo paper, folds it neatly, and slips it on Mark's desk. He should thank Renjun, but something tells me the man would rather not be caught implicitly helping Yukhei out. Mark, as he comes to learn from Renjun's occasional ranting, is not known for his patience.

•••

A week later, on a Sunday, a dark figure slips into his unoccupied classroom ten minutes to 1 pm.  _ Right on time _ , Yukhei muses. He puts down the paper he was marking, and turns to the newcomer.

"What do you want?"

An involuntary shiver shoots down Yukhei's spine. It's been months since he's heard those very words. Though spoken in a different context, they still make him feel the same: wary with a flash of excitement. He doesn’t respond immediately, taking in Mark’s polished appearance with a slow, appreciative glance. When they finally meet eyes, his lips pull into an impish grin. Mark’s scowl deepens.

"I see you haven't worked on your bedside manners since the last time we talked."

The tension around them heighten, and Mark’s eyes harden.

"What do you want." The words grit out like a sharp edge of a blade.

Yukhei wants to grin. He's been asking himself the same question. What did he want?

It's selfish. It puts a lot of what he has at risk. But if he plays his cards properly, he can get what he want. Just like Mark did on the train carriage all those nights ago.

He straightens to his full height.

"For starters, I have your cufflinks." He procures the small pieces of ornate gunmetal on his large palm, as though offering a treat to a pet. This is the only reason Mark is here. His only bargaining chip and, if he uses it properly, his strongest weapon against the cold man in front of him.

Mark doesn't move, though his eyes briefly catches the subtle glint of the metal in Yukhei's palm. He meets Yukhei's eyes with a chilling look.

Yukhei stands his ground. "They were presents, weren't they? Tailor made, one of its kind?"

Mark inhales sharply. "How do you know this?"

Yukhei shrugs, nonchalant. "I didn't know if you'd show up, to be honest. But I'm glad I took a gamble. Learned from the best, after all."

There is a pause, where Mark levels him with a heavy, measured look. The attention is unnerving, but Yukhei feels he's finally being taken seriously. He welcomes the change. "What do you want for them?"

"I haven't decided. Perhaps you could make a suggestion. Something on the same level as what you did to me on your train." Yukhei's grin widens, eyes sparkling dangerously. "Stuck between a rock and a hard place. Stripped bare and tied at the wrists. What if I make those demands too?"

Mark glares at him, then without another word he spins on his heel and strides out the door. Yukhei leaps to his feet.

"You wouldn't want anyone to find out your uh,  _ inclinations _ , and how I got these, would you?"

Mark stops in his tracks, spinning quickly to pin a fiery glare to Yukhei. It would make anyone flinch, but Yukhei is impervious to it. "A thief with an embellishing mouth," Mark sneers. "No one would believe you."

Yukhei's eyes harden. "Walk out that door and we'll see what happens to your reputation."

Mark doesn't immediately move, and Yukhei feels like he's finally gained some leverage. Mark takes a shallow breath.

"Are you sleeping with my secretary?"

"What?" Yukhei looks baffled. But when he catches Mark's shifted eyes he laughs instead. "God, no. Whatever gave you that idea?"

Mark narrows his eyes. "How did you know about my schedule?"

"I have my ways."

A muscle jumps in Mark's jaw. "Snooping around again. I had reason to suspect you all along."

Anger rises in Yukhei's gut. "There you go again with your assumptions. What have I ever done to deserve that?"

"Besides your unauthorized entry to my train carriage, and unauthorized access to my schedule? I wonder as well." The sarcasm drips with each word. "As a principle, I only trust those who have earned it."

Yukhei looks away, irritation spilling into his veins. It makes his hands restless, his hands shake. "Pity, you could've been  _ nice _ on top of being handsome. But I guess one can't have all."

If Mark is surprised by his underhanded compliment, he doesn't show it. "Return my cufflinks."

"Do you think I went through all the trouble just to have this conversation with you?"

"State what you want then."

"Eye for an eye," Yukhei growls.

Mark raises an eyebrow. "Makes the village blind? What is your point, Mr. Wong?"

A pause. Then Yukhei is struck with an idea.

"Sex. Once every week, for the rest of the school year. That is my term, Mr. Lee."

It becomes so quiet he can hear a pin drop.

Mark breathes, eyes wide. "You're fucking insane."

"What, don't think you can handle a repeat of what happened last time?" A challenging glint flits across Yukhei's eyes.

"I'm not dignifying that with a response. Keep the cufflinks. Don't leave notes on my desk anymore, and stop flirting with my secretary."

"I'm not!" Yukhei protests, but Mark is out the door before he finishes.

Yukhei growls, half in frustration and the other half with a kind of sadistic excitement. A chase, of course. He balls his fist around the cufflinks, shoving it in his pocket, his veins strumming with adrenaline, mind running to exact his next actions.

Fine. If Mark wants a chase, he'll run him so hard that he'll be begging for his next breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But what will he do? *scratches chin curiously*
> 
> Thank you for reading, bookmarking, subscribing and hitting kudos <3 To those who have left comments, thank you for them <3 I love reading your thoughts! Hope you enjoyed this chapter too, because we're gearing up for some good ol' fun for our favourite boys in the upcoming chapters ;) Oh wait, was that too much of a spoiler? ;D

**Author's Note:**

> [tw](https://twitter.com/pnkpxls) | [cc](http://curiouscat.me/n_kei)


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